


Remembering and Knowing

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They tell him he’ll be getting a new arm soon, one without a red star and seventy years’ worth of blood on it. The blond - the one who keeps calling him Bucky, the one who he sees sometimes in dreams that leave him feeling inexplicably warm and whole, the one who he was supposed to kill but didn’t, couldn’t - tells him Stark is nearly finished, that he just wants to make sure the synthetic nerve endings are calibrated correctly, not too dull or too sensitive.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembering and Knowing

**Author's Note:**

> Part of Story-a-Day May. Unbeta'd, just trying to write more!

They tell him he’ll be getting a new arm soon, one without a red star and seventy years’ worth of blood on it. The blond - the one who keeps calling him Bucky, the one who he sees sometimes in dreams that leave him feeling inexplicably _warm_ and _whole_ , the one who he was supposed to kill but didn’t, _couldn’t_ \- tells him Stark is nearly finished, that he just wants to make sure the synthetic nerve endings are calibrated correctly, not too dull or too sensitive.

He looks up, into the targ— into Captain— into _Steve’s_ face, into wide blue eyes that conceal nothing, emotions written plainly in the furrows of his brow and the set of his jaw. More memories piece themselves together every day, all of them varying degrees of savage, ruthless, returning knowledge of what he has done, what the Winter Soldier has been forced to do. Nightmarish, all - except for the ones that slip in, quiet and unassuming, of those same blue eyes looking at him from a different face, what must have been a long time ago. He _knows_ those eyes, even if he can’t remember them.

He lets out a harsh breath and flexes his hand, hearing the metal crunch against itself but feeling nothing.

"Buck?" asks this man, this _Steve_ , this person who is standing before him like he isn’t a machine made for killing, like he isn’t one trigger-phrase away from dissolving into the Soldier again and ending countless more lives without a single thought other than _complete the objective_. Like he is more than the blood on his hands, metal and skin both.

"I’ll." He stops, and flexes his hand again. His voice is rough, and it hurts to talk, takes him a minute to remember how. He feels like he hasn’t done anything but scream for a very long time. "Nerve endings. You mean I’ll be. I’ll be able to feel…"

Steve nods. “Yeah. Tony said it won’t have exactly the same sensations as regular skin - not until he or Banner figures out a better synthetic, anyway - but it should be a big improvement over - over nothing.”

"You were important to me." The words come out of his mouth unbidden; he stares down at the ground, unable to look at Steve, feeling a flush crawling up his neck. "I don’t remember - but I know - I see you, sometimes, in my dreams, but you’re smaller, and you’re the only thing that isn’t covered in blood or blown apart -"

He bites back a gasp as Steve carefully reaches out a hand and places it on his regular shoulder, has to fight not to throw it off. There’s a beat, and then he sees Steve curl his other hand around the metal bicep just underneath the sleeve of his shirt.

"Yeah, Buck, I was. Real important. And you?" He looks up again, into Steve’s face, closer this time, so close that he can feel Steve’s breath against his cheek. "You were everything to me. Still are."

There is wetness on his face and then he’s pressing his lips against Steve’s, and he doesn’t remember this either but he _knows_ it anyway, knows it even if he doesn’t know what year it is or what his own name is or how he’s alive, knows it like breathing, like something he’s been doing all his life. Steve lets out a broken moan into his mouth and clutches him tighter. The press of warmth against his good arm is shocking and for the first time in seventy years Bucky finds himself looking forward to something, to getting his new arm and being able to feel Steve’s touch _everywhere_.

There is so much left to remember, but suddenly somewhere in his mind Bucky is sure he _knows_ that feeling, too.


End file.
